


If I Go, I'm Going Reckless

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, I really don't know what this is, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Stydia, i live for stydia angst, oh well, post 6a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: "He falls into her in all the best ways. He can feel his heart beat, and hers and they aren’t synced but it doesn’t even matter because with every down beat of his, hers responds with the up beat. It’s a give and take, and he wants to give, and give, and give. He wants to give all of himself to this girl. The same way he always has. The way he always will.""It's about the connection" -Scott McCallOr how Stiles finds his way back to himself with the help of his favorite Banshee.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Well thanks again for clicking on this! It's shit, it really is. It's more of a mind dump because I have so many ideas, and I just have to get them down. This started out as one thing and evolved into this, and it's shit. But! If you feel so inclined, keep reading((:

He’s floored. Like rooted to the spot, cannot move, cannot breathe. And dammit this is like the 3rd time this week that this has happened, and he can’t understand why it won’t stop. Why he can’t catch his breath or get used to it. 

It's actually nothing serious. He’s just walked into the library, and there’s Lydia, and he’s floored. He isn’t actually sure that he’s ever going to get over her, and he certainly doesn’t want to. But while she’s sitting there being absolutely, mind-numbingly perfect, he’s still trying to remember how to be himself. 

There’s no packet about the Wild Hunt that tells you that when you get back, you’re going to feel so displaced from your life that you can’t really recognize certain things. It’s weird. And if he wasn’t so used to feeling out of place already, he’d be totally losing his mind. 

It seems that the longer you stay in The Other Dimension, as he’s calling it, the harder time you have. So while everyone else is doing okay, him and a few other people are still having trouble. What’s worse is Stiles is absolutely terrible at communicating how he’s feeling with his friends, so instead, he’s been avoiding them studiously. 

Which brings him to the library and Lydia. Despite his desire to avoid her, he can’t help himself from his habit of watching her for a few minutes. He takes her in. Her hair is flowing freely, she’s in a floral print dress, and her black heeled boots. His mouth is a little dry, and if he’s turning red right now, well fuck it. She’s beautiful, and he just needs to see her. 

But then she looks up, and waves, and he starts feeling disoriented because he can’t quite figure out how she looks at him so openly, and so lovingly. He shoots her a small smile back, and then turns and darts out of the library, leaving Lydia and her reverence behind. 

Deep inside, he doesn’t want to avoid this, or her, or any of the pack, but he’s just lost. There’s no direction to guide him, and he can’t get his footing solid. To be fair, it’s only been a week since everyone was rescued, but he’s still frustrated. 

He’s angry because he has been through enough, and he’s allowing for some self pity because he isn't sure he can keep going through events that are drastically altering his life, and the lives of those he loves. He doesn’t know how many more goodbyes he has inside of him before he’s going to run out. 

What’s worse about this whole situation is that he had heard his dad crying the other night, and when he had woken and went to see what was wrong, his dad was holding the picture of Stiles at 10 years old, and his mom on her last good day. He had asked what was wrong, but his dad wouldn’t budge. 

But Stiles being ever persistent and persuasive, eventually got it out of him. 

Finding out that in order to bring Stiles back to This Dimension, meant his dad had to say goodbye to his wife for a second time, had shattered him. Not in visible ways, never visible. But in ways that he wasn’t sure were ever going to heal. 

He told no one. He assumed they knew and didn’t tell him in order to protect him. 

So as he’s bolting down the hallway, he’s so distracted with reabsorbing all this information he didn’t ask for, trying to discern what is actually going on, trying to feel like he belongs in his own life, that he doesn’t notice Scott, so he runs right into him. Shit. 

“Whoa! Dude, where ya going?” Scott asks, holding Stiles up briefly while he tries to regain his footing. How appropriate.

“Uh just… I think I just uh need some air…” he pants out because he’s really starting to freak out, and he isn’t even sure why.

“Stiles are you okay? You look really freaked out.” Scott points out. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just need some air.” He repeats monotoned.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Okay… Well text me if you need me, dude.” Scott insists gently. 

Stiles just nods and starts walking away. He knows that Scott is staring after him with a concerned look plastered on his face, but he can’t bring himself to turn around and shoot him a reassuring smile because he can’t do it. He just can’t pretend right now, and it would be useless to try. They all know he’s losing his mind. 

He knows that they know. And once again, everyone has to nurture him back to health, and it makes him feel sick. 

He finally reaches the fresh air. He inhales and watches the world come into sharp focus, and feels infinitesimally more like himself. 

 

XXXXXX

 

Lydia has been trying exceptionally hard to give Stiles space. She understands, she really does, but it definitely doesn’t make it any easier to watch him struggle the way that she knows he is. She can feel it. 

She wants to ask him about it, wants to make him talk about it, but she knows that he’ll just say he’s fine, and that he doesn’t want anyone to worry. It’s his way of making sure no one takes care of him because he feels guilty. 

Scott has a hero complex, and Stiles has a guilt complex.

She wants to help him so bad. She doesn’t know how. All her attempts to reach out to him have fallen flat. She’s tried visiting his house, tried following him into the locker room, tried calling, texting, nothing works.

If she didn’t know Stiles so well, if she didn’t know how he operates, she’d almost think he didn’t want to be a part of the pack anymore. To be honest, she wouldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t blame any of them for just wanting to get away from it all. But while her and the rest of them aside from Mason have the capacity to deal with supernatural forces through supernatural means, Stiles doesn’t. He just has to take it. The seniors in the pack have all just been taking it for far longer than the younger members of the pack.

And if she’s tired, she knows he is too. 

She had been so thrilled when they got him back. But they had been separated and by the time she had gotten to him, they’d only had a few minutes to get their feelings out in the open, before it was time to start fighting again. They haven’t really had time to discuss them yet. 

Beyond Stiles, Lydia is still trying to figure herself out. There’s so much that she still doesn’t know that she’s desperate to figure out. The feeling of losing balance is not a burden Stiles carries alone, Lydia feels off kilter more often than not these days.

She thinks it’s about time they take it on together. 

 

XXXXXX

 

There’s a giant fucking hole where his door is. His dad had to break through the wall in order to find his room again. How the fuck is this his life? Why did his curiosity get the best of him that fateful night 2 years ago. 

“Fateful? Seriously Stiles?” He murmurs to himself because while he does have a flair for dramatics, that’s just too much for him. 

He’s spent a lot of time in his bed, trying to figure out how exactly he’s going to make up his homework. Which means that he hasn’t actually been making up his homework. He’s just kind of too tired? He doesn’t really attempt to discern what’s going on inside his head, he just kind of drowns in it. Lets it carry him away. Before he knows it, he’s empty. Just empty. 

Then there’s a light knock on his bedroom door, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that it’s Lydia. But he’s empty, so fear doesn’t grip him. Guilt doesn’t grip him. He just lays there, staring at the ceiling. 

“You know, I pulled your jersey out of thin air in here?” She says softly, and it’s her voice that brings him back to reality. Crashing through the emotionlessness he had been basking in 2 seconds prior. 

“Yeah,” his voice is scratchy, “My dad told me. Told me you spent most of your time trying to convince everyone to remember that I was real.” He smiles softly at her. 

“There was no other choice,” she states simply. His chest aches a little at that because he can’t find it in him to be grateful in the way he thinks he should feel grateful. He just feels mixed up. 

“Why are you here?” He can see his question move through her, deflating her. He’s tired of hurting everyone. 

“Because you’re hurting,” again so simple, and the aching grows. 

“I’m fine.” He states but he knows she doesn’t buy it, and he doesn’t either. He’s terrible at hiding these things when confronted directly. So his friends know, and then he denies them the chance to help him, so they get to watch him suffer, and all the while he thinks he’s doing them some good by keeping them out of his fucked up mind. 

“Stiles,” she says sharply, “You are not fine. And it’s ridiculous that you keep insisting that. Especially since I can practically feel your panic all the way over here. You can’t hide from me. Not anymore.” She’s moved forward into his room so she’s a foot from him, standing there staring at him, desperately. 

He sits up, plants his feet on the floor and rests his elbows in his knees, hands in his hair. “How can you feel that?” He asks because he’s trying to get out of actually talking about his panic. 

“Emotional tethers. When you were gone, I picked up on a lot of things pertaining to you. Mischief,” his head comes up, and she keeps talking, “The jeep, knowing the exact spot in this house where your room was, pulling your jersey back,” he’s just staring at her now. “And something shifted. The connection that you and I had before was amplified. I wanted you back so badly, I could feel it in every bone in my body. I felt it all the time. I missed you, like I do now.” She moves and sits next to him. “I’m not asking you to be who you were, or to figure it all out. I’m asking you to let me help, please. Because I can’t keep missing you like this. I can’t keep aching for you when you’re right here in front of me. Let me help,” she whispers the last sentence, and he closes his eyes as he feels her forehead touch his shoulder. 

He looks at her, and he feels himself cracking and breaking. He looks at her and he feels like he’s drowning. And it isn't her. He knows it isn't. 

It’s this never ending gnawing that eats through him. She soothes that a little bit. But it’s like something inside him is saying ‘you cannot be loved, you will not be loved’ and he can’t drown it out. 

“Lydia..” he starts, and he just needs her to leave because if she doesn’t, he’s going to tell her how much he needs her and how much he wants her, and how he’s so fucking scared he’s beyond repair, that he’s been ruined. But he hears it again, ‘you cannot be loved, you will not be loved’ and he can’t keep asking Lydia to love him, when he can’t give her anything to love. So he says, “I look at you, and I feel like I'm drowning.” And the tone of his voice, and the desperation in his eyes, hits her like a tidal wave. He can see it. 

He can see her shatter a little bit, because she knows. She knows that he loves her. But wanting her around, needing her around is different. And he’s just told her that he can’t handle having her around. 

She nods once. He’s about to lay down, but she moves forward, cupping his face in her hands. She strokes his cheek, and he can’t help it, he leans into her touch. There’s tears in her eyes, and he hates himself. He fucking hates himself. 

She leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet. And he soars. But she pulls away, and the feeling is gone. He isn’t entirely sure it was there in the first place. 

She smiles sadly at him, and gets up. She stands in his doorway, and watches him for a second before saying, “Bye Stiles.” And it feels so final that he almost calls out to her. There’s an ache in his chest, and somewhere inside he knows it isn't just his own ache, but hers too. 

He lets her go. 

He lays back on his bed and screams. 

 

XXXXXX

 

The next day when he walks into school, there’s Scott standing at his locker. Just waiting for him, and Stiles wants to turn and run the other way. But he doesn’t, mostly because he knows Scott would catch up to him anyway, so there’s absolutely no point in running. Or hiding. 

So he approaches his locker, and hopes this isn't going to be a conversation.

“Hey Scotty. What's up?” He can hear how fake his voice is and it makes him flinch. He’s the worst actor in the entire universe. 

“What happened with you and Lydia last night?” Scott asks. His voice hits Stiles like a punch because it conveys all the pain Lydia had poured into him last night. The pain Stiles has caused.

“I'm sure she told you,” he says by way of answer, even though it isn't really the answer he knows he’s supposed to give.  
“She did,” Scott affirms, “But I want to hear your side of this. Because there’s no way you would willingly turn down Lydia. So what’s really going on?”

“I’m not getting out of this am I?” Stiles asks, resting his head against the door to his locker because if he looks at Scott he might just scream again. 

“Not a chance.” 

“Can we talk about this later? I don’t really feel up to discussing my fuck ups in the hallway in our high school,” he laces his voice with annoyance so maybe Scott won’t continue to think it’s as bad as it is. 

“Sure. I’ll come home with you after school.” And that’s it. It’s final and there’s nothing Stiles can do about it. He groans out loud as Scott heads down the hallway.

His first class is English, which Lydia is in, and she ignores him with a fervor he hasn’t seen since freshman year. He feels nauseous because he’s, once again, pushed her away for reasons he didn’t bother to explain. He wants to run up to her and tell her everything, but he doesn’t. He knows that staying away from her is what is best for both right now.

Biology is Lydia free, and that makes concentrating a little easier, but not by much. AP Physics has her ignoring him again. Lunch is agonizing because everyone feels awkward and he doesn't know who to talk to, so he leaves early. 

Calc is probably the worst because he sits right next to her, and now neither of them has anywhere to go. So he sits there trying his damn best not to look at her. 

But he can feel her. He can feel her everywhere. They aren’t even touching, and he can imagine how soft her skin is, what her hair smells like, how her smile reaches her eyes, and how she rolls her eyes when he’s particularly hyperactive. He can feel it, and it knocks the wind out of him with just how powerful it is. 

He can’t help it. He looks. And she looks. And he wants. He can see in her eyes that it’s killing her to ignore him, but he had asked and she won’t push him. 

Fuck does he love her. (you cannot be loved, you will not be loved). He shuts it all down, and stares at the board. 

He can’t feel her anymore. 

 

The day finally ends, and he sprints out of the school hoping to reach his jeep before Scott. And it isn't that he would ditch Scott, but today he really, absolutely would. Unfortunately for him, Scott is already at his jeep. Fuck.

“Dude. You didn’t really think you’d get here before me, did you?” Scott quirks an eyebrow at him. 

He rolls his eyes, “Your wolf powers are entirely out of hand,” he says in good nature because despite how much he does not want to have this conversation, he really did miss Scott more than he can even begin to verbalize. 

They climb into the jeep, and as he’s pulling out of the parking lot, he sees Lydia looking at them. He drives faster. 

They're both quiet the whole way to Stiles' house, which he is immensely grateful for because he doesn’t have any idea what to say, or how to start. 

When they reach his house, they get out in silence, walk into the house in silence, head to his room in silence, and then sit in silence for 10 minutes before Scott says anything. 

“Okay dude. What’s going on? Why are you acting so weird?” 

Stiles falls back onto his bed, and lets the breath whoosh out of him. He thinks for a minute.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says.

“Try.” Scott demands. 

Stiles thinks for a few more minutes. And then; “I feel out of place. Like all the time. It’s like I don’t fit in to my own life anymore. I know this is my room, and you’re my best friend, and my dad is my dad, but I feel like I’m watching it all from outside of myself,” he stops for a second, and Scott doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “I don’t know what happened to me, but every time I look at Lydia I hear this voice in the back of my head telling me I can’t be loved and I won’t be. And I know, logically that she loves me. But she kind of drowns me, and saves me all at the same time. I don’t know what to do with that. So I pushed her away because I don’t know if I can’t give her what she’s looking for.” 

He waits for Scott to say something for about 2 minutes, and just as the panic is about to set in, Scott speaks. 

“Stiles… It’s okay that you feel lost. I mean dude you didn’t even exist in this plane. You were gone. Just gone. And we know that, that screws with you. Nobody blames you for feeling that way. But blocking all of us out… it’s selfish. And it isn’t fair.” Scott says, hurt evident in his voice.

“I know that, Scott. But you guys keep having to glue me back together, and I feel like a dick but I’m tired of watching you guys hurt over my hurt.”

“You’re pack. That’s what we’re supposed to do. This is OUR pack, Stiles. I may be the alpha, but I need you. You know that.”  
Stiles sighs, “I know.” 

“Then let me help,” Scott insists. Stiles sits up and looks at Scott sitting in his desk chair across the room, and nods at him. “Thank you. Now let’s talk about this feeling you get around Lydia.”

Stiles gets up and starts pacing, “It's weird. Like really fucking weird. She calms every thing inside of me, but for whatever reason, this feeling just over powers all of that. I can’t focus on anything else. And I’m scared. I’m really fucking scared Scott, because I really fucking love her. And she finally loves me too, and… shit. This is such a disaster.” He runs his hands through his hair aggressively. 

“I think you have to face it Stiles. Kinda like, let her prove to you that you do deserve to be loved, you know?” Scott hedges.

“She deserves better, Scotty,” Stiles resigns, like that’s the end of it. 

“How about you let her decide that?” Stiles stops pacing and looks at Scott. “You weren’t here, dude. You didn’t see her. She knew. I mean like right from the start, she knew that something was off. She knew she loved you long before she remembered your name, or who you were to all of us. And then when we all became a little hopeless, she snapped us back to attention. I mean it was incredible. This unwavering faith she had that you were real. That you were out there somewhere.” 

Stiles isn’t even breathing. He can’t respond, so Scott keeps going. 

“And when we heard your voice through the radio, she started crying in the quiet way she does when she’s trying to be strong. She spent hours at your house just staring at the wall outside your room. She let us look at her like she was crazy, because she knew. She never doubted, not for one second,” Scott actually wipes a tear away, “And she was it. She opened the rift. She loves you, dude. She was really broken up when she realized she never got to say it back to you. She didn’t cry quietly that time. So let her decide what she deserves.”

They stare at each other for a solid 30 seconds, and then Stiles looks away. 

“Okay,” his voice cracks on the word, “Okay. I’ll let her decide.” Scott nods and looks down, “And Scott?”

He looks up, “Yeah?”

“Stop beating yourself up, okay?” Scott smiles slightly and nods. 

Stiles leaves his house, throwing himself into his jeep. He starts it up and pulls out of his driveway. He doesn’t even have to think about how to get to her house because he has it down pat. 

He just drives and thinks about what exactly he’s going to say, and if she’s going to listen. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. 

10 minutes later he’s at her house. He doesn’t even think because if he thinks too much, he won’t get out of the car. So he throws the jeep in park, turns it off, and gets out of the jeep. He runs up to her door, and she opens it before he even has time to knock. 

He stands there breathing heavy just looking at her, and there it is again. The feel of drowning, the ‘you cannot be loved, you will not be loved’, but he shuts it down as best as he can, and starts to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at him. “I’m so fucking sorry Lydia. It wasn’t you. It isn't you. I love you. I do. I swear to God I do.” He says desperately.

“I know that Stiles,” she responds quietly.

“When I told you that when I look at you I feel like I'm drowning, it was true,” she recoils like he’s slapped her. “Oh god, no, Lydia,” he takes a step forward so he’s directly in front of her, “It was true, but only because I’ve just been feeling so lost and out of place. I don’t know what the fuck is going on in my head or in my life. I feel like an outsider, and when I look at you… I feel like I’m drowning in it all. But there’s also something underneath that that kinda saves me? It’s like you’re holding me above water, and it.. it feels like floating, I swear it’s the most fucking crazy thing.” He’s kind of panting because he’s trying to get all this out so she understands, so she knows that at his core there is never anywhere else he would rather be than with her. 

“Then why are you pushing me away?” She calls him out, and he’s never going to get over how she just knows when to call him on his shit.

“Because you shouldn't have to deal with this anymore. You deserve so much better.” He sighs out.

She hasn’t moved from her spot where she’s holding the door open, but at that she crosses her arms and says, “How about you let me decide what I do and do not deserve?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah that’s what Scott said. He pried my head from my ass about 20 minutes ago.”

“Smart of him.” She says. She knows there’s more, and he can tell she’s waiting to hear it. 

He runs a hand over his face, “On top of all of this out of place-ness, there’s this voice constantly going in the back of my head and it just reminds me how unable to love I am…” He trails off because he’s ashamed of that. He knows that she knows that it’s his voice constantly berating him. Constantly trying to convince himself he doesn’t get to have good things. 

“Stiles,” she says softly, stepping forward and placing her hands on his cheeks. She strokes one, and looks him directly in his eyes. Despite his desire to look away, he doesn’t. He can’t. “You deserve so many good things. You deserve them all. Let me prove that to you. Let me be good to you.” She whispers, and then she kisses him softly. 

This is the third time they’ve ever kissed, and it makes his knees weak. He can’t think. His body just reacts to it. 

Like the way he steps forward one more time while wrapping an arm around her waist, so she’s pressed against him. Like the way his other hand moves up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek feeling how soft her skin is. He starts wondering if she’s soft like that everywhere. He’s pretty sure she is. 

She grips his shirt and starts back up so they’re inside her house and she shuts the front door. They stand there kissing for a few minutes, and then she pulls away. He looks at her confused, but then she grabs his hand and starts leading him to the stairs. 

“Lydia..” he says warily.

“Come on, Stiles. Trust me okay?” And he nods because of course he trusts her. He trusts her with every single part of him. So he lets her take his hand and lead him up the stairs to her room. 

Once they’re inside her room, she closes the door and turns to him. And he feels a little like he’s drowning again. 

“Lydia..” he says again, this time choking on her name. She moves forward and kisses him again, and all of it ebbs away.

“Shhh Stiles…” she whispers against his lips, and he’s taken back momentarily to when they kissed junior year in the locker room, “It’s going to be okay. Let me be good to you.” She kisses him again, and he just melts. 

He falls into her in all the best ways. He can feel his heart beat, and hers and they aren’t synced but it doesn’t even matter because with every down beat of his, hers responds with the up beat. It’s a give and take, and he wants to give, and give, and give. He wants to give all of himself to this girl. The same way he always has. The way he always will.

They kiss for awhile, just standing there breathing each other in, trying to remember how to breathe together. And then he feels her hands run up his torso, and push his flannel down his arms. He removes it. She pushes his t-shirt up, and he complies because he will not deny himself Lydia Martin anymore. He can’t. He has no willpower left. 

She pulls away from him, and he watches her take him in. She traces her finger along his chest, down his stomach, and back up, mouthing out 1, 2, 3, as she counts the moles scattered along his body. He just lets her because what else can he do?

She looks up at him through her lashes, “Kiss me,” she whispers, and he does. He dips his head down, and catches her lips with his.  
“Let me be good to you too.” He whispers back because fuck does she deserve it. She deserves all the best things this life has to offer, and he decides right then and there that if she lets him, he’s going to spend his entire life giving them to her. 

They kiss again, and he’d never guess that the taste of Lydia’s tongue would be the best thing, but it is. It really is. She removes her dress, and he’s panting because he knows what’s about to happen. 

He wants it to happen.

But he’s terrified because this means more. This is everything. This moment between the two of them is going to open a door that he is never going to be able to go back through.

She's working on the button of his jeans when he speaks again. “Lyd,” he says softly, and she stops working his jeans off of him, and looks up at him. “If we do this.. I can’t go back. I can’t. If we do this, you’re going to open something inside of me that I’m not going to be able to close. I’ll fucking love you till I die. I’d do that anyway, but if you give this to me, I don’t… I..” He isn't entirely sure what he’s trying to say. But he knows that if they have sex, it’s going to mean something significant to the both of them. 

She’s offering to show him love through their physical connection, and he’s offering to give it back. And if their tether was strong before, he has a feeling this is going to open a floodgate. 

“I can’t go back either, Stiles. So let’s do this. Together.” She smiles warmly at him. He gulps and nods. 

They get the rest of their clothes off, and they fall into her bed. He’s braced above her, and she nods to him. 

He pushes into her without breaking eye contact, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. 

It's like his chest is opening up, like he’s pouring all of his oxygen and blood into her, trying to keep her alive. He can feel her giving as much as she’s taking. 

He starts moving inside of her, and all the weight, all the water that was drowning him evaporates into oblivion, and he can see her. He can see her clearly. He can feel her breathe on his neck as she pants into it, he can hear her moaning his name, he can feel her around him. It’s euphoric. 

And then she opens up, and he can feel what she feels, can feel how she wants him and how she loves him. 

“Lydia,” he gasps out because he can’t rationalize what he’s feeling. “Oh, Lydia..” He breathes against her neck. 

“Come on Stiles. Let go. Come on.” She pants back.  
He can feel how ready to come she is, and he’s right there and so he kisses her and he lets go. And so does she.

Something solidifies in both of them, and he knows. This is it. She is it. 

They come down and he pulls out. They lay there for a second catching their breath.

“I think you’re stuck with me, Lyd. Like forever kind of stuck. You just permanently tied yourself to a hyperactive puppy.” He says.

“I’ve been meaning to adopt anyway. Prada is lonely.” She looks over and him with a smirk playing at the edge of her lips.

They don’t need to talk about what happened, they both know what it means. They both know how the other feels. 

They clean up, and Stiles and Lydia fall asleep together. 

 

XXXXXX

 

The next day finds Stiles walking hand in hand into school with Lydia, which surprises absolutely no one. There are no whispers, no questioning looks. 

“It’s like everyone thought we were dating already.” He murmurs to her as the head to her locker.

“And that surprises you?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well no, but I mean some whispering would’ve been nice. I don’t like feeling predictable.” He grumps making a scrunched face at people passing by.

“Stiles, you’ve been into me since the 3rd grade. It’s not so much predictability as it is people probably think you wore me down.” She snarks with humor.

He grins at her, “Can’t blame me for my phenomenal kissing skills,” he winks at her.

She pushes him, and he starts laughing, “I should never have told you that!” She whispers, trying to sounds agitated, but the truth is, he’s right. 

But it was so much more than that. 

“You should definitely put something about my mouth in your vows when we get married. ‘I vow to love you forever, Stiles ‘best kisser ever’ Stilinski,” He blurts before realizing what he said. He stops and looks at her. He doesn’t know if that was an over step, and he waits without breathing for her to respond, or slap him, or walk away. 

“Fine. But only if you use your mouth to re-recite your vows between my legs after the wedding.” She says lowly, and his heart stops.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lydia,” he half groans.

“Have fun in biology!” She calls over her shoulder as she’s walking down the hallway. 

“Evil! That’s evil!” He shouts back.

He walks into biology thinking about their future, and how approximately 4 hours from now, he’s going to recite his promises to love her between her legs over and over and over. 

Stiles and Lydia on repeat, over and over and over..

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, you made it, and I am so sorry. It was bad wasn't it? Yeah I know. Go you for reading the whole thing. I appreciate you.  
> If it didn't suck too much, leave kudos and comments and I'll make sure to write better next time I swear to God.
> 
> I'm impvlsivee on Tumblr((:


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